


Motorin'

by starkind



Series: Through the Ages [4]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: Adolescent Sexuality, Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, M/M, Road Trips, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2019-08-05 10:45:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 16,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16366376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkind/pseuds/starkind
Summary: After messing up the already problematic relationship with his deceased parents' business partner, young Tony decides to escape his fate and never look back. Along the way, he picks up a withdrawn hitchhiker, and their unplanned road trip turns into the adventure of a lifetime.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm unsure if this story fits the bill of this series, but seeing there is a tag for AUs set in the 80's, it sort of counts. This has been inspired by a prompt but ended up differently. Nevertheless, here is the original idea that got the ball rolling: 
> 
> "I just quit my job and put all my belongings in a U-Haul and started driving, you’re the hitchhiker I picked up on a whim who I’m starting to think is a dangerous fugitive" 
> 
> source: http://dailyau.tumblr.com/post/160366354009/i-just-quit-my-job-and-put-all-my-belongings-in-a

Tony Stark, prodigal genius son of deceased Howard and Maria Stark, was a disappointment.

At least that was what Obadiah Stane, CFO of Stark Industries had convinced the board of directors of. At age 25, all that young Tony did was not take his responsibilities as CEO serious enough to be considered a worthy successor of his father. Tony drank and partied, and was caught in so many promiscuous situations, no matter the gender, that Stane had eventually staged an intervention.

His negligence had led to Stark Industries losing a big contract to Wayne Enterprises, one of SI's biggest competitors. Ever since the decease of its original founders, Thomas and Martha Wayne, Wayne Enterprises had been straying from its previously prosperous course. Stane had been eager to finally sink his teeth into the conglomerate. Except that WE had managed to save itself, due to Tony's severe slip-up.

Needless to say, Obadiah Stane was furious.

At the prospect of being 'grounded', Tony decided to say "Screw it" once and for all. In a cloak-and-dagger situation, he packed a bag with what he deemed necessary and locked away his precious bots in his recently finished new mansion in Point Dume. He then went to acquire a mean black '87 Buick GNX from a local car dealer, paid $30.000 in cash, and disappeared into the night, gone for good without a trace.

For a while, Tony drove close to the coastline, headed for San Francisco, with the radio blaring loud, the windows rolled down, and the summer breeze whipping at his hair and t-shirt. He had not quite figured out which way to go, even toying with the idea of making it up all the way to Canada. At a local gas station close to the harbor, Tony stopped to refuel both his Buick and his own dry throat.

The bell over the door jingled just as Tony had paid for gas, an eight-pack of Mountain Dew, and some chewing gum. A lone figure walked in, taller than Tony but roughly about his age. A dusty baseball hat sat deep in the guy's face, and his clothes, sneakers, and backpack spoke of frequent use. Tony stood next to the sliding doors glimpsing at the daily newspaper headlines on the rack when he heard the start of a conversation.

“How much for the Perrier?”  
The cashier looked at the sparkling water bottles the guy pointed at.  
“$15.75 for the pack of 12.”

Tony saw the guy scowl under the brim of his threadbare hat. “Just one bottle.” The cashier crossed meaty arms which exposed a smudged tattoo on his left forearm. “We don't sell single bottles of those, pal.” Tony left the store, got back in behind the wheel, and stowed away his haul on the empty passenger seat. After a few moments during which he fiddled with the radio, he saw the guy leaving the store again, empty-handed.

Tony was quick to turn the keys and pulled out into traffic again. He slowed down next to the guy who had crammed his hands into the pockets of his hoodie jacket and pulled down his window. “Hey. Here.” At the sound of his voice, the guy turned to look at him and the can of Mountain Dew Tony held out. The guy's eyes narrowed. “No, thanks.” He kept on walking, and Tony noticed the soles of his sneakers were riddled with holes.

Stark Jr thus put the can back on the passenger seat but kept on idling along the sidewalk. “Where are you headed?” The guy kept his gaze straight ahead and his stride brisk, re-shouldering his backpack. “East.” It came out as a grunt. Tony could not help but snort, occasionally glimpsing at the traffic in front. “With no bucks and an attitude like that? You're dead before you reach Nevada, pal.” No further reaction.

Eventually, they both had to stop at a red light. Tony glimpsed his way again. “Can I give you a ride?” He earned himself a mistrusting, sideways glance. “Where are you going?” Tony paused, looking pensive reevaluating his current life choices. A slow grin crept over his face.  
  
“East.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who might care - Tony's ride is supposed to look like this:
> 
> http://image.automobilemag.com/f/antique-classic-cars/back-in-black-buicks-gnx-goes-out-with-a-bang/9761618+cr1+re0+ar1/1987-buick-gnx.jpg
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bc6Kw1OWmzM


	2. Chapter 2

Introductions were short. His company went by the name of Bruce and was apparently two years younger than Tony. He smelled of fumes and faint male sweat and kept his backpack clutched between his legs and his gaze out of the open passenger window as Tony entered the I-80, heading for Sacramento. For a while, they drove in silence until Tony all but squirmed in his seat. Eventually, he dared to clear his throat.

“So. East is a bit vague.”

A glimpse at the solemn profile underneath the baseball hat brought no response. Tony heaved an audible sigh. “At least gimme a state.” After what seemed like an eternity, there was a quiet answer. “Drop me off where ever.” Tony poked his chin at the glove box in front of Bruce. “Fair enough, but until that happens, you're gonna be my navigator. There's a map in there. Go on and look for the best route.”

Still skeptical, the other boy did as he was told. The map spoke of frequent use; its paper thin at the folds and its corners creased. About to unfold it in his lap, Bruce looked up. “Best route to where?” Tony shrugged and ran both his palms down the wheel, shifting into a more comfortable position. “To where ever you wanna go.” When Bruce was back to frowning at the map, Tony pointed his thumb at the backseat.

“Have a soda if you're thirsty. Hand me one, too, while you're at it.”

Like a wary animal, Bruce put the map down and turned around. Some rustling, then there was the telltale crack of a seal being opened. A can appeared in Tony's line of view seconds later and he took it. From up close he could see that Bruce had long fingers with bitten-down nails and scraped knuckles that looked like telltale signs of a past brawl. Tony nodded his thanks and took a first sip, grimacing at the warm content.

“If you're hungry we have to stop somewhere else. I didn't feel like getting food poisoning from those tuna and egg sandwiches there.”

Bruce was busy gulping down all of his soda in one go, unmindful of its temperature. Once he was done, he wiped at the corner of his mouth, catching a trickle before it ran down his chin. “I'm good.” Tony hummed. “Because you're not hungry or because you don't have enough money to buy some grub?” Before the other boy could answer, let alone get mad, Stark clicked his tongue and put up a confident grin.

“Hey, like I said – you'll be my navigator and I'll take care of the catering.”

“I'd rather not.”

“What? Be my navigator?”

“Mooching off.”

Slight annoyance crossed Tony's youthful features, unused at being exposed to such illogical resistance. “I mean, I gotta eat at some point, and so do you. What'cha wanna do – go steal food somewhere?” The expression on Bruce's face changed within milliseconds from irritated to embarrassed to indifferent. “I can work for food!” Tony let his anger evaporate and leaned forward to change the station again.

“Yep, work for me as my navigator. I've never done a road trip before, but you look like you do.”  
A shadow of something flitted over Bruce's face and was gone just as quick. His eyes fell down at the map once more.  
“Where do you want to go?”

It sounded unconvinced. Tony quelled his own rising doubts with a broad grin and reached out to turn up the volume as 'Voice of America's Sons' by John Cafferty & The Beaver Brown Band came on. “Surprise me.” The following look of intensity Bruce cast the map made Tony wonder if he were better off navigating himself. Then, after a few moments, his passenger raised his head. “Stay on the I-80 and head towards Reno."

Bruce raised his head to squint at the road ahead before glimpsing to his left.

Tony threw him a thumbs-up sign paired with a wholesome grin.

“Roger that, Admiral.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song mentioned in this chapter is from the 'Cobra' soundtrack (1986)  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CyntORITxOI


	3. Chapter 3

They drove with the windows down all the way through Utah until unfamiliar, sputtering noises eventually woke Bruce from where he had slipped into a quiet slumber. He shifted and blinked bleary eyes over at his driver. “Wha's wrong?” His voice was slightly slurred from sleep. Brows furrowed, Tony cursed under his breath. “Sounds like engine trouble. Gotta stop so that I can have a look and fix it.”  
  
“Can you?”  
Bruce eyed the slowly rising vapor in front of them with unveiled skepticism.  
“Course!”

It sounded fairly indignant. With a glimpse in the rearview mirror, Tony used the turn signal and stopped on a dusty strip on the side of the road. Few cars passed them by as he popped the hood and waved the billowing white smoke away. After spending a few minutes with his head underneath the hood, Tony's flushed face peeked into the passenger window. "Looks like there's a leak in the coolant hose. No biggie."

Without bothering to wait for an answer, Tony headed to get something out of the trunk. Seeing he was not asked to help, Bruce slouched deeper into his seat, pulled his hat down, and resumed his doze. After what turned into a little more than an hour of tinkering with a travel set of tools, seeing Tony also discovered a loose valve while he was at it, he flipped the hood shut and stretched his aching back.

The slamming of metal and its accompanying jolt brought Bruce back to the present.

“Fixed it?”

Two dark-brown eyes glowered back at him once Tony resumed his place behind the wheel. “Course!” He grimaced down at the front of his shirt, soiled with sweat and grease, and found the eyes of his curious but silent companion. “Not to be mean, buddy, but I think you and me should really start thinking about where our next shower comes from. Besides, your wardrobe totally needs a detergent-and-water-date, too.”

Bruce, who had taken his hat off for the first time, revealing a scraggly mop of brown hair underneath, was quick to jam it back on his head with a very miffed expression. “I can very well leave if my presence is so disgusting.” His petulance earned him a flat look. "Cut the diva stunt and admit you'd very much like to feel civil again.” With no further argument from his passenger, Tony turned the key and pulled back into traffic.

They drove on until a sign by the road indicated the next best state campsite. Seeing it was the middle of the week, the parking lot was almost empty. It was surrounded by trees big enough to provide blissful shade from the merciless sun. While Bruce started to dig into his backpack for a fresher set of clothes, Tony went for a small office booth to ask for some change and permission to use the shower cabins.

He returned five minutes later, arms filled with towels and two traveler sets each holding a small piece of soap and shampoo, q-tips, toothbrush, and mini toothpaste. “All set. The old guy in there's nice - I even got these.” He held up two disposable razors and a plastic comb. “You ready for the spa?” Bruce clutched his spare belongings to his chest, gave a wary nod, and followed his enthusiastic companion.

The shower stalls were basic but clean, accompanied by a strong smell of bleach. With a handful of quarters each, they went their separate ways and agreed on meeting at the car in half an hour. After scrubbing himself vigorously clean from head to toe, Tony was the first one ready. He leaned against his Buick and ran a palm over his cheek. He had decided to ditch his goatee experiment, seeing it required bothersome trimming.

As soon as he had combed his wet curls and left them to dry in the warm breeze, he stowed away his toiletries. A spontaneous whistle escaped his lips when Bruce rounded the corner. He, too, had shaved, and with his washed hair and clean clothes, he looked less than a hobo and more like a regular guy in his early twenties. “Definitely an improvement.” With that, Tony handed him the comb and a plastic bag for his dirty laundry.

He threw the latter next to his own laundry bag into the trunk while Bruce ran the small comb through his own, thick mane. In its wet state, it almost touched his shoulders. Seeing he had donated his grimy hat to the laundry pile, Bruce had no choice but to do as Tony did. It did, however, not stop him from finger-combing it back every minute, hating the way it flopped all over his eyes. "Want a rubber band to tie it with?"

At Tony's cheeky question, Bruce grumbled something unintelligible and resumed his passenger seat. They left the campsite equipped with two hearty sandwiches, hand-made by the owner of the campsite called Stan, and the promise to return for a real camping vacation some day.

+

In Wyoming, they pulled up to a laundromat and spent their remaining quarters and two and a half hours waiting for their laundry. While Tony made use of the time to doze off, sprawled out over three plastic seats in a row, Bruce sat and stared at the repetitive motion of the machine with a look of deep concentration. The laundromat came with a free dryer, too, so they piled back into the Buick with a clean set of spare clothes.

At the smell of synthetic fabric softener in the air, Bruce rolled down his window once they were on the road again. “You are good with cars.” Tony, who had been humming along to Billy Joel, threw him a surprised glance at the conversation starter. “Huh? Oh, yeah, that's kinda my thing. I'm a mechanic at heart. MIT alumni.” When Bruce nodded, Tony took the opportunity to keep the talk afloat. “What about you? Where'd you study?”

Bruce's jaw moved in silence before he offered a response.

“Princeton.”

“Degree in--?”

“Dropped out after a year.”

“Oh. Okay. Happens.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration for the guys' looks taken from these pics: 
> 
> Bruce:  
> https://m.media-amazon.com/images/M/MV5BM2Y3NDZlNGYtZTYyNi00ZTQ2LWJkNTktN2FmOWZkMTQzMzczXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyNTIzOTk5ODM@._V1_.jpg
> 
> Tony:  
> https://noliquidificador.files.wordpress.com/2011/03/fashions_05.jpg


	4. Chapter 4

Because of a series of unforeseen roadblocks, Wyoming had them running out of gas. On the last fumes, Tony pulled onto the side and put the gear in neutral. “Get out and push.” Incensed, Bruce looked up from the map. “What??” Tony put up an important face. “One of us gotta push, the other has to steer.” Grumbling, his passenger took his feet off the dashboard, threw the map aside, and got out to do as he was told.

The sun was still shining bright, and while Tony sat, listening to the radio with two fingers on the bottom part of the wheel, Bruce was keeping a slow, but steady pace. After a while, Tony's guilty conscience started to nag and he craned his head to look out of his open window. “You're doing great there, buddy! Nice and easy. That's it.” Bruce's red, puffing face came up into view from where he had kept his head down during his chore.

With a grunt and a mumble Tony thankfully did not understand, Bruce then stopped pushing and straightened up with a groan. “Where is the damn gas station? I'm not doing this much longer.” He wiped the back of his arm over his forehead before he lifted his red t-shirt and wiped down his entire face with it. It took a few seconds until Tony tore his eyes off of Bruce's wiry physique and took the discarded map.

“There's a small town less than a mile from here.”

+

Pine Bluffs welcomed them with a gleaming Gulf sign up in the sky and a gas station that was attached to some sort of small diner. Tony's mouth started to water at the sight of a bit sidewalk display promising sandwiches and burgers, ice-cold drinks, and snooker in big bright chalk letters. “Looks decent.” Bruce shrug-nodded with a glimpse down his sweat-stained shirt before he followed him inside.

The diner was unpopulated, except for a crew of six playing snooker in the back, and furnished with old 60s memorabilia of the run-down kind.

Tony's eyes lit up at the sight of an old Wurlitzer in the corner and he did a quick inspection of it before he slipped into a booth across from Bruce. “Three songs for a quarter. That's neat.” An older, sinewy guy with a gray ponytail and a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth shuffled over and took their orders. They did not have to take long to decide on two classic burgers with extra fries and two large Cokes.

Bruce, whose facial color had normalized by now, downed his drink in one go and was quick to order another one. The burgers arrived soon after, and he wolfed down his meal before using a paper napkin on his mouth and fingers. Tony watched him tug at his sweaty shirt while he finished his own plate, and Bruce eventually got up to inspect the restrooms. He came back soon with a look of determination on his face.

"I need to get a fresh shirt before I wash up."  
Stark jr. nodded, licking seasoning off his fingertips before digging into his pocket and handing him the keys to the trunk.  
“Take your time. Imma go check out the Wurlitzer.”

Once Bruce was gone, Tony fished for some change and scooted out of the booth. He threw a coin into the jukebox, pressed an additional button and fist-pumped to himself when the machine rattled as his quarter fell through and the records started spinning. “Didn't hear you askin' for permission, boy.” At the foreign voice, Tony looked over his shoulder. One of the guys from a nearby snooker table regarded him with dismay.

Cheeky as ever, Tony Stark just shrugged. “Good thing it's a free country then.” He went back to picking two more songs, and the first of his three choices began to play. Whistling along to Chris Montez' Let's Dance, Tony was about to sashay back to his booth. The rocker dude, however, had put his cue aside and stepped into his way. He was about four feet taller, 60 pounds heavier, and tattooed from the neck down.

“What kind of clown are you?”

He leaned in until he and Tony were face to face. The latter gave a wide grin. “Right off the bat, I can say I'm not engaged in any kind of clowning profession whatsoever, so I-” A meaty fist adorned by massive skull rings curled into Tony's shirtfront and pulled him close. “You need a lesson in keepin' yer cakehole shut, babydick.” Tony scrunched up his nose at the man's beer and cigarette breath and tried to wiggle free.

"And you need a Wrigley's Spearmint, ugh."

Just when Tony was about to brace himself for the unavoidable punch about to follow, a voice from behind chimed in. “Take your hands off.” All heads turned around to where Bruce stood, holding a billiard cue up like a spear. The tattoo guy snarled at him. “You lookin' for trouble, maggot?” Without any decipherable emotion, Bruce went into the motion of twirling the cue around in a hand-over-hand spin. “No. You are.”

He kept his gaze locked on all five aggressors while his motion swiftly caught momentum. It resulted in two of the gang members taking an involuntary step back. “Been watching too many Karate Kid reruns, you beanpole?” The gang leader shoved Tony aside, sneered, and motioned at his bald comrade. “Sic him.” Bruce pushed forward doing a figure-eight-spin, rotating the cue in one hand and letting it come down.

It connected with a crash against the man's temple and the guy sunk down with a grunt. Bruce stepped back, rotating the staff once more with ease and speed; that time through his fingers. The gang leader's face twisted at his display of laissez-faire. “Now you pissed me off real good, kiddo.” There was a soft, slicing sound, then two jackknives appeared in his hands. “I'm gonna enjoy carving you up.”

In the back, the Wurlitzer made a record-switching sound.  
  
Tony, who had inched out of the line of fire, cast wide eyes over to Bruce.

Bruce only gave him a sparse smirk in return.

As soon as Jerry Lee Lewis began to belt out his 'Boogie Woogie Country Man', all hell broke loose.   


Tony was quick to duck out of grabbing range, avoided several punches thrown his way, and slid down under the pool table. Emerging on the other side, he gathered up enough billiard balls and began to throw them at his opponents with force, aiming for their heads and chests. In front of his table, Bruce cut a fierce figure; swirling and thrusting and jabbing with the queue until he had incapacitated and felled three men.

Their remaining comrades came at him at once, among them the red-faced leader. He made noises like a raging bull, jackknives whooshing through the air. Before Tony could come to Bruce's aid with another billiard queue, Bruce did a sweeping blow. It caught one guy in the solar plexus, the gang leader in the groin, and the third right under the chin with an upward thrusting motion. The result was a splintering crack.

Panting heavily, Bruce dropped the two halves of the cue and pointed at the exit.

“Run.”

With one final look at the groaning pile on the floor, Tony jumped over the empty pool table with a nimble move and followed him. They left the parking lot with screeching tires. “Holy shit. Holy SHIT, that was awesome! Where'd you learn that?" Adrenaline still pumping through his veins, Tony had to be careful not to swerve the car into the opposite lane as his eyes kept on darting between the rearview mirror and the street.

Next to him, Bruce poked at a tear in his sleeve and did a few flexing and rotating motions with each hand.

“Overseas.”  
Tony's gaping turned into a giddy smirk.  
“Beats every Princeton degree.”  
  
They grinned at each other.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jerry Lee Lewis 'Boogie Woogie Country Man'  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lhwt1MLdO-I
> 
> Bruce's fighting style inspired by the following tutorial/sequence:  
> https://youtu.be/XVRDhZ74NVA?t=642  
> https://youtu.be/ENqMy1BU2-Y


	5. Chapter 5

Night fell not even before they were halfway through Nebraska. On a whim, they decided to sleep in the car on a deserted rest stop off the road to avoid running into the biker gang in one of the motels along the freeway again. Since he had trouble falling asleep, Tony kept on chatting about everything and nothing in particular until he dared to broach a lingering matter. "We do need to decide on our final destination."

As expected, Bruce's mouth clamped shut and he displayed a thorough interest in undoing his ratty shoelaces. Tony filled the silence with a hum. "New York City. My parents own an apartment in Manhattan. That's a reasonable destination I guess.” He wisely refrained from offering any more insight, knowing Bruce would not ask. True to form, the other boy gave a curt nod and went back to folding his clothes into a makeshift pillow.

Doing the same, Tony then shifted until he was lying on his right side.

“Got some relatives in the Big Apple, too, by any chance?”

“No.”

“We can go anywhere you like beforehand.”

“New York is fine. Close enough to my hometown.”

“Which is...?”

“Gotham City.”

“Yikes.”

Bruce glared at him through the semi-dark. Tony pulled a face.

“Sorry, just – city's got a reputation for being one of America's worst.”

His companion pulled the checkered blanket from the trunk up higher and twisted around to grace Tony with his back.

“I haven't been there in a long time.”

+

At the first sweep of a flashlight, Tony's bleary, sleepy mind thought of a thunderstorm. There was no thunder to go with the supposed lightning, however, and only a rapping against the driver's window. “Nebraska state patrol. Open up a window and keep your hands where I can see them.” On the passenger seat, Bruce sat up, already fully alert. “What does he want?” His whisper was met with a yawned out groan.

“Cop on patrol. Thinks we're up to something shady.”

Tony then rolled down the window of the backseat. “Good evening, officer. Is there a problem?” He kept his palms up as well as a winning expression. “Step out of the vehicle!” Having to squint at the flashlight pointed his way, Tony raised a palm to shield his eyes. “Listen, officer, we are just passing through and needed a place to crash for the night, and...”

“Step out of the car, Sir.”

“Now, officer, I didn't do anything wrong. I know my rights.”

“You're trying to smartmouth me, punk?”

Before Tony knew it, the policeman pointed a gun at him.

“Get out of the car, slowly, and with hands behind your head where I see them.”

His eyes found a frowning Bruce on the passenger seat.

“You, too, pal. Out.”

The two shared a look but complied. The fresh night air hit their bare arms and legs and caused Tony to shiver in his boxer shorts. The officer was tall, meaty, and smelled of coffee and stale cigarette smoke as he single-handedly patted them down for any hidden weapons. Grimacing at the close proximity, Tony tried to shift from the unwanted touch. “This is a mistake, officer.” A hand around his arm propelled him back in place.

“That's not up to you to decide. ID's?”

Tony pointed his chin down.

“Center console.”

The officer reached inside and took Tony's ID. He stared at it for a while, leaving Tony to secretly fear he was going to contact Obadiah Stane. Thankfully, the rural police officer had not heard anything about the Stark heir gone missing, or, Tony mused drily, no one had even noticed -or cared about- his absence so far. Tony looked at Bruce again, wondering about his papers. Then the cop did the same. “You. Papers.”

Steadfast as one could be in t-shirt and shorts, Bruce looked him in the eye.

“I don't have any.”

At that, the cop put away his gun and produced a jingling pair of handcuffs.

“Alright, fellas. You're coming with me.”

+

The local police station was a sad, neon-lit place that reeked of piss and other effluvium. Tony tried hard not to gag when they were shoved into a waiting cell. They were unshackled and at least given some of their clothes back to dress with. Still, they had to wait almost an hour until they were addressed. By that time, Tony had given in the urge of sitting down on a cold, metal bench with dents and chewing gum on it.

Bruce, however, remained standing ramrod-straight in front of the bars and stared at the events outside the cell. Apart from the officer who had brought them in, only two other cops seemed to be present, with one of them always on the police radio and the other busy typing up page after page on a small typewriter. Once their cop reappeared in front of their cell, Bruce held and returned his unwavering glare.

“First and last name.”

“Bruce Thomas.”

“Age?”

“23.”

“Current address?”

“I just got back to the States after studying abroad for a year, I don't have a new apartment yet.”

"Where are your papers and your ID?"

"I got mugged when I arrived at the airport. I had just enough money left to call my friend to pick me up."

Tony tried hard not to gape at him and his stone-faced lies. The officer jutted everything down and went to ask Tony the same string of questions. Bruce did not perk up at the name Stark, leaving Tony to think he either was really clueless or the best actor he had met. He leaned forward against the bars. “Listen, officer, we didn't know it was a felony to sleep in the car. Otherwise, we would have gotten a place to stay.”

Grumblings from the desk could be heard, then the officer put a key into the cellblock's lock and turned it.

“Sleeping in the car comes with a fine of $80. Cash. I don't want to catch you guys around here ever again.”

+

Without any cash left, they drove on until Iowa welcomed them with a sign that read 'Fields of Opportunities' which Tony took to heart. They stopped at the first motel they found, asked for a room, and offered to work for it in exchange for rent and food. The owner was an overweight, elder man with yellow teeth and a limp in his stride. "You wanna live here, sonny, you work. Hard. Your job is to get the pool clean, understood?"

Tony gave an eager nod and snatched the big motel keyring from his hand.

"Aye, Sir."

Bruce who had remained quiet throughout followed him out to where the owner had said their room would be. It turned out to be a single room with a twin-sized bed and a bathroom that merely allowed space for one. Its door jammed whenever they tried to lock it, so they had no choice but to always leave it ajar. Calling dibs on showering first, Tony disappeared while Bruce sunk down on the creaking bedframe and waited.

Less than two minutes later, curses could be heard. "Fuck, the water pressure is non-existent. This is gonna take forever!" His silent companion did a quick smelling check on his shirt and decided to postpone his own shower, seeing the motel owner expected them to start working. Once Tony emerged, his spirits were renewed despite the inconveniences. "Now, let's go and fish some leaves out of the water, shall we?"

They walked around the motel grounds, getting familiar with the terrain and inspecting the equipment at hand. At the sight of the huge in-ground pool in the back, its surface caked with dirt, litter, and rotten leaves, both stopped dead in their tracks. Bruce threw him a pointed look.

"Which water?"

 


	6. Chapter 6

“I can tell from over here that you're doing it wrong!”

Annoyed, Bruce let the telescopic pool brush sink and glowered at his partner across the empty in-ground pool basin. His pale, freckled shoulders, neck, and most of his face were covered underneath some thick white splotches of Calamine lotion against the merciless afternoon sun. He then squinted and rubbed the back of his arm over his eyes as a mixture of sweat and Calamine ran down and made them sting.

“How the hell would YOU know?!”

They had manually rid the basin of the piled-up litter before starting to scrub the vast area clean. The pool brushes were old and bendy at the handles but did their job of cleaning the sides and ladders from the grime that coated the material. With a look of utter importance written square across his youthful face, Tony pushed the pair of sunglasses he had dug out of his Buick's glovebox higher up his nose with an index finger.

“'Cause I am a genius. And you are using too much force instead of the proper technique.”

Whistling along, Tony then put his pool brush over his shoulder and went to rinse it out under a nearby garden hose. Bruce eyed the pool lining with its micro fissures again. Apart from leaves, there were dead insects, remains of algae, and other organic substances stuck to the uneven surface no matter how thorough they were scrubbing. Displeased, the motel owner had eventually provided them with a strong-smelling chemical.

It had burned nearly half of Tony's sneaker off the first time they had tried it out undiluted.

Bruce watched Tony douse himself with the hose as well until his t-shirt was soaking wet and clinging to his torso, nipples standing out against the wet fabric. Feeling his cheeks heat up, Bruce averted his eyes and scrubbed vigorously at a dirty spot around the bottom of the ladder. “Of course you are, you braggart.” He sensed rather than saw the spray of water coming his way. It made him sputter and drop the brush.

On the other side of the pool, Tony stood, garden hose pointed at him like a weapon. “Never cross the streams! Have you seen Ghostbusters yet, Bruce?” Having no idea what he was talking about, said boy shook his head and was promptly rewarded with another burst of water. Brushing down his face, Bruce snarled at him. “Stop it!” Tony started to sing something about 'Who ya gonna call?' with a cocky grin and struck a pose.

“So make me!”

The grin Bruce cast him from underneath dripping wet bangs was a feral one, and Tony instinctively took a few steps back. He made an attempt to start to run when Bruce went into hot pursuit, but sadly his shorter legs were no match for the other boy's. It did not take long until Bruce had wrestled the hose free from Tony's grip. He then shoved it down the front of his shorts, enjoying the yelp as the cold water hit sensible parts.

“ARGH! Ohh, fuck you, I – YIKES! It's SO on now, Bruce – just you wait--AHH!”

A deeper voice hollered across the backyard.

“Fucking idiots! I don't pay you for your dilly-dallying round! As of tomorrow, you work in shifts! Alone! Get back to work!”

Bruce lowered the hose and they stood, dripping wet, and let the motel owner's tirade wash over them.

Tony stuck out his tongue once he had turned his back and was out of their sight.

+

Their sleeping arrangement was mediocre at best. Having to share a twin-sized bed worked in theory since they both were of a rather slim build. However, Bruce's legs not only were longer than Tony's, but his knees were also of the sharp and pointy kind. It led to Tony examining the blossoming bruises on his shins and the back of his thighs in the cracked mirror inside the closet door. “I look like a victim of domestic abuse.”  
  
Lounging on their bed, Bruce cast him a flat look. “You bruise far too easy.” His eyes dropped back down to the copy of an old comic called The Gray Ghost he had scrounged up from somewhere, ignoring Tony's ongoing laments. "Also, stop ogling yourself and get going. Henderson will chew you out if you start working late." Parroting him, Tony flicked two fingers against the comic, earning himself another glower over its rim.  
  
"Get lost, will you."

"Cool out, B, I'm leavin. Stay fresh."

Bruce had disappeared behind his comic pages again, not bothering to grace him with another reaction.

+

Once Tony returned from his shift, his back and arms ached all over and his body reeked of sweat and bleach. Focused on getting out of his grimy clothes, he pushed the door to the bathroom open with an elbow and his back. Bruce was standing under the shower, water trickling down the small cabin. His left hand was braced against the tiles while he was jerking off, head hung low and breathing hard through his mouth.

Tony stopped in his tracks and stared, transfixed. Apparently, Bruce was already so far gone that he did not notice him standing there until the final moments, just before he came. Their eyes met just as a small gasp tore from Bruce's throat and he squeezed them shut and gritted his teeth. Feeling the heat rising into his cheeks, Tony spun around and fled, pulling the door shut even though it creaked open again.

He ended up pacing their small room until Bruce exited the bathroom five minutes later, dressed in a t-shirt and shorts, wet hair hastily combed back with his fingers. Bruce avoided making eye contact and dropped down on his half of the bed, so Tony walked up to the bathroom door, looking at his profile. “Listen, I'm-- that wasn't...” The Gothamite's jaw clenched. “Forget about it.” His words were firm and finite. Tony frowned.  
  
“No, but..”  
Shame and anger blazed in Bruce's eyes when they finally met his.  
“I said: Forget. It.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> m/m situations in this chapter

From then on, Bruce became even more reserved and elusive than before. He went out of his way to avoid Tony as good as possible, taking up early shifts at the pool and returning late in the evenings after spending his days doing something that was completely out of Tony's periphery.

One hot summer night, the air was stifling and their small room -naturally without air condition- felt like an oven. Laying atop the sheets, Tony kept on tossing and turning in between the sticky fabric, staring at the open window through which no fresh breeze came in. Eventually, there was an accompanying rustle. “Stop it, I want to sleep.” The joy over Bruce speaking to him on his own volition was dampened by Tony's ongoing misery.

“It's too fucking hot for that.”

“Because you're fussing.”

“I'm fussing cause I'm wound up from feeling like a goddamn Tater Tot!”

“Wind down. Now.”

Bruce's voice was authorative even though he remained lying with his back to him, facing the wall. Tony sneered up at the dark ceiling.“The only way to do that would be to rub one out, but since the shower is whack, I'm outta options.” A pause, then there was a snarl. “If you think you're funny, you can go fuck yourself.” Unbeknownst to Bruce, a mischievous expression crept up on Tony's face.

“Matter of fact I do think I am, funny I mean, but apart from that – yeah, I could. Fuck myself that is. Right now and here. It's what guys do, no? Only natural. But you wouldn't want to be around for that.” When he thought Bruce would not bother answering him, the latter simply pulled the sheets up higher despite the sweltering temperatures. “I don't give a damn.” With a wolfish grin, Tony reached into his boxer shorts.

“Well then, enjoy the show.”

It turned out masturbating in front of an uninterested audience was not enough to make him come, so Tony gave up after a while, huffing out in frustration. “Need some privacy with your hand?” Bruce's low question was snide. Tony nudged his back. “Feel free to join in. You're better at it than me anyhow.” At that, Bruce's silhouette sat up straight. If his hunched shoulders were any indicator, he was getting angrier by the minute.

“You just can't keep your damn mouth shut, can you? I sure as hell didn't want you to see, but apparently you're a pervert who enjoys ridiculing people for a living!”

“No! Wait! Bruce!”

Tony clung to a delicate wrist, tugging against the force that was driving Bruce out of their bed. “Truth is... I can't stop thinking about seeing you in the shower, okay?! I can't stop thinking-” He bit his lip and stared down at the mattress. “I liked seeing you. Call me a pervert, or faggot, or whatever.” Bruce stopped trying to break free from his grip and stared at him. Tony scooted against the headboard and drew his legs up.

With his chin resting on folded arms atop his knees, he started chewing on his bottom lip, refusing to look up and see Bruce's disgust.

“Try again.”

Wary, Tony raised his head, too stunned to reply at first. When Bruce lay back down, Tony followed suit, feeling the clammy sheets stick to his back. With a final look for confirmation, he found Bruce nodding at him as his fingers curled around his softening erection and began tugging and stroking. A look of concentration was on his face as Tony stared up at the ceiling, willing the mental images to be erotic enough to do the trick.

Two minutes later, he gave up again. “Doesn't work.” He almost jumped when a hand reached for his free one. “Relax.” Bruce's fingers were warm but dry. They started to mimic Tony's stroking motions around his wrist, and Tony felt himself responding to the physical touch. At some point, Bruce then placed Tony's free hand over his own, heavy arousal, and it made Tony fall over the edge with a shuddering moan.

When he gathered his bearings, Bruce had turned his head to watch him with dark eyes. “Worked well enough.” His voice was breathy. Tony wet his lips and trailed his gaze down to where his hand was resting on Bruce's bare lower belly. “I wanna... get you off. Can I?” The other boy could be heard breathing hard. “Y-yes.” Wiping his fingers dry within the covers, Tony inched closer towards him.

He took stock of the heavy rise and fall of Bruce's chest as well as the unmistakable tenting of his briefs. Bold and mellowed out from sexual release, Tony then reached out and ran his fingers experimentally along the fabric line, causing the other boy to give an almost inaudible gasp.

“Tell me if it's not good.”

At the shaky nod that followed, Tony slipped his fingers below the elastic waistband. Bruce stifled a groan at the first real contact of skin on skin, and his hands twisted into the sheets when Tony started to pleasure him. After a while, Tony started to notice how he fought to stay quiet. “You can be loud, I... I'd like that.” Warmth radiated off of Bruce's body, but Tony did not mind the heat anymore.

Soon Bruce made soft, panting noises, and when he spilled into Tony's hand, it was with a throaty gasp. Tony slipped his hand free and wiped the remains into the bedsheets once more, making his partner grunt. “That's disgusting.” A big, drawn-out yawn was his answer. “Too tired to get up.”

Sleep found them almost instantly afterward, and the next morning, caught between sticky spots and Bruce hogging the sheets, Tony was the first one awake. He laid still, listening to the birds outside, and stared at the freckled back next to him, wondering just how things had changed.

 


	8. Chapter 8

At some point during those early morning hours, Tony must have fallen into a light slumber again, because when he woke with a start, it was to an empty bed. Pulling a face at the crusty fabric which stuck to his skin, he rose and pulled off all the soiled sheets and covers in a swift, fluent motion. Leaving them crumpled in a heap by the door for the housekeeping crew, Tony then used the restroom and the shower.

Always an ear out for any sounds from the other room, it soon became clear Bruce was not going to return. Tony thus dressed, slipped on his sneakers and headed out, looking for coffee and breakfast. At the scenery that greeted him, he stopped dead in his tracks, key chain dangling from his hands. The motel's front was occupied by four police cars which stood with their lights flashing but no sound.

Heart racing fast inside his chest, Tony then spotted Bruce standing amid a circle of officers. His expression was unreadable as he kept on talking to an officer with a notepad, who was busy writing along. “Looks like you guys ain't such slackers after all.” Tony swung around to the sound of the grumpy motel owner's voice.  
  
“Huh?”  
  
The man harrumphed around the toothpick between his lips and nodded into Bruce's direction. “Sonny there found out 'bout a petty theft. Serial thief travelin' from motel to motel, pickpocketing the clients. Dunno how he did it, but I ain't no use for stinkin' burglars 'round here, that's f'sure. Gotta business to uphold.” With that, he brushed past Tony in a cloud of deep-fry oil, sweat, and cheap cologne, ready to give his statement.

Eyes wide with disbelief, Tony then noticed a woman he had seen around the motel once or twice. She was in her late thirties, wore big sunglasses and plateau heels with a short, summery dress. She seemed agitated as she, too, spoke to another officer, gesturing from herself to a guy sitting on the backseat of a police car. Eventually, Bruce spotted his companion but nevertheless focused back on the cop.

After a couple of moments, the officer then flipped his notepad shut and made a move to shake Bruce's hand. Once excused, the latter trotted over into Tony's direction, only to be called after and caught up by the woman. From his place by the front door, Tony was unable to listen to their hushed conversation, but after what looked like profuse thanking, he saw her push an envelope into Bruce's reluctant hands.

“You're such a darling.”  
  
With that, she took Bruce's face in between her palms and bent down to kiss his cheek, leaving a bright coral lipstick smudge behind. He took it as stone-faced as anything else and gave a polite nod before he went up to where his friend stood waiting. When he headed inside without a word, Tony trailed after him. “What in the ever-loving-fuck...?” His voice had a slight edge. Bruce only gave an offhand shrug.

“I noticed something was off. I acted. Problem solved. Breakfast?”

At his deadpan nonchalance, Tony stopped walking and stared at his back, thoroughly flabbergasted. It made Bruce turn and look over his shoulder. “Or have you eaten already?” With a snorting laugh, Tony shook his head and resumed his walk. “Sheesh. You're something else, Mister Thomas, you know that?” A peculiar curl of the mouth was all he got in return before Bruce rubbed at his cheek and went ahead.

Equipped with an armful of breakfast items from the motel's meager selection and two scaling hot coffees with dried milk from the vending machine, they marched back up into their room. The soiled sheets were still where Tony had thrown them onto the floor. Uncaring about their accommodation, they sat down on the ratty mattress and dipped pieces of bread as well as fingers into small plastic Cadbury servings.

Once the coffee cups were empty and the bed covered in crumbs, Bruce reached into the back pocket of his pants and put a slightly crinkled envelope in between them. When he did not make a move to open it, Tony's curiosity beat him to it. At the sight of the five $100 bills inside, he could not help but to whoop out with honest delight. “That's more than enough to last us until New York! Oh, I could kiss you, Bruce!”

Said boy brushed money and envelope aside and looked at him, all serious. Then he gave a nod.

“Okay.”

Their first kiss tasted of Cadbury chocolate spread and coffee. It did not last very long, but when it was over, hazel eyes blinked open in slow motion and rested upon the equally mesmerized countenance of his companion. Tony then licked his lips and tried for smugness. “I could get used to that.” With an affectionate, small smirk, Bruce reached out to wipe a smudge of chocolate from his chin with a gentle thumb.

“Yeah.”

+

Done with scrubbing pools and getting yelled at on a daily basis, they packed their sparse belongings and headed out on the road again, stopping only for food or restroom breaks. In Iowa, they did some spontaneous stargazing on a clear night out in the fields, far away from the city lights.

It turned out Bruce was an expert at starting a proper campfire, and so they soon sat around a cackling circle, thighs touching while holding a couple of marshmallows on wooden sticks into the fire. In return, Tony shared some of his extensive knowledge about astronomy with him, pointing out constellations.

“There! Look!”

Bruce raised his head from where he had been examining the roast-status of his marshmallow. “What?” All excited, Tony pointed upward. “A falling star! Make a wish, Bruce. But don't say it out loud or it won't come true.” With a nod, Bruce put the stick aside, craned his neck, and stared up at the sky with diligence. After watching him with a fond curl of the mouth for the longest time, Tony went and mimicked his intense gaze.

When they were rewarded with a meteor shower raining down upon them minutes later, their eyes found each other, awed and filled with mutual longing. Without further words, Tony leaned in and Bruce met him halfway, cradling the side of his head to kiss him. They ended up eating sticky marshmallows and burning their fingertips and tongues, and smothered the ache by kissing some more.

As soon as the last dying embers had fizzled out in a gust of dark smoke, Tony poked them with a sneakered toe. “Let's go find a motel for the night. I don't wanna feed another greedy cop our hard-earned money.” Bruce cast him a pointed glimpse. “Uh-huh.” Tony rolled his eyes and his hand with an air of impatience. “Okay, fine, _your_ detective-superbrain-money, alright? C'mon Hutch, time to catch some Z's instead of thieves.”

Bruce rose to his feet and made sure to collect all of their belongings to throw them into the trunk. “Hutch?” Tony got behind the wheel but did not start the engine or buckle up yet. “Yeah, like that TV series Starsky and Hutch. You're more like Hutch - the quiet, intellectual type.” Tony paused, all pensive. “Guess that makes me Starsky then. Whatever. But my ride's way cooler than his Ford.” He caressed the steering wheel.

“I have no idea what you're talking about.”  
Upon seeing the lost expression on Bruce's face, Tony made sure to kiss the confusion from his lips.  
“Nevermind. Next motel's gonna have a TV.”

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> non-graphic mentions of m/m situation(s)

Having money made choosing a motel much easier.

The Park Motel in Danison across the Highway 30 came with a teal-colored carpet, clean and working bathroom facilities, a queen-size bed, and access to cable TV channels like MTV and TBS. Much to Bruce's bafflement, Tony was all over something called the Braves Baseball series.

“Don't tell me you're not into sports?!”   
Bruce, about to head out for his evening run like he had done the past two days, gave a snort.  
“I'd rather train myself than watching other people.”  
  
His jibe provoked a poked out tongue before Tony caught him by the wrist to nab a kiss. "You're so diesel, babe. Enjoy your run." Bruce looked down to where Tony's fingers had just been seconds ago. "What did you just call me?" Tony looked up, attention already back on the TV. "Huh? Oh, babe you mean. Hmm, not good? I haven't gone steady with a dude, so I dunno what works and what doesn't."

He gave a carefree shrug that made Bruce curl his fingers into the torn hem of his shirt. "Me neither." It earned him a wide smile from Tony. "So I'll keep trying out words until you find something you like. Alright?" It mollified the grumpy tug around Bruce's mouth a bit. "Okay." That time it was the Gothamite who demanded another kiss before heading out.

Once he returned, sweaty and red-faced despite the late hours, he found Tony sitting on his side of the bed, legs left and right around an old analog tuner, 13'' TV. “What's that going to be?” Upon Bruce's suspicious glare, Tony stopped poking at the device with a screwdriver. “Imma get us all the goodies. Screw those scrambled channels.” He eyed the drenched physique with a click of the tongue.

"You're dripping all over the floor, sugarplum. Go take a shower."  
  
With a swift motion, Bruce pulled the wet shirt over his head, leaving his unruly hair in even more disarray.  
"That one's a no."  
Tony's cackling was interrupted by the wet fabric being thrown his way and hitting his face.

"Yuck! You sure don't smell like sugarplums, loverboy."

+

When Bruce was showered and ready for bed around 10:30 pm, Tony then presented him with the results of his meddling. At the first clear color TV scenes of two naked men on screen performing blow jobs on each other, Bruce was taken aback. “What is that?” A lecherous grin. “Isn't that obvious?” In an instant, Bruce flushed red. “Yeah, no, I mean-” Distracted by the images and sounds from the small TV, he frowned.

“You need to jerk off to that even if we-”

Words failed him and made his frown deepen, angry at his ineptness. Tony snuggled up until he was straddling him. “Noo, silly goose. I want us to watch together... get inspired in the process to try stuff out ourselves, y'know?” Hazel eyes full of doubt traveled up to meet his. “I don't know. I haven't done... much.” The last bit came out mumbled, like Bruce was embarrassed by his confession. Tony cupped his cheeks.

“No worries. We've got all the time to explore what works and what doesn't. Just like with the nicknames. You just tell me what you like, okay?”

As soon as a hesitant nod escaped Bruce, Tony urged him on to slide deeper into the pillows and flopped onto his side to be able to cuddle up to him, one hand caressing his bare chest as they turned their attention to the actions on-screen. After a while, Tony noticed how Bruce began to squirm. He thus slid a hand under the blanket to brush against his obvious arousal. “Think you could get used to that?”

Bruce eyed the performance and licked his lips.

“I... could.”

Their first attempt at doing the 69-position made Bruce come really fast, much to his embarrassment and Tony's joy. After cleaning up in the bathroom, they slipped back under the covers, facing each other. Tony's hand reached out to caress a long and thin, reddish scar that ran along Bruce's clavicle. “Where'd you get that? You never told me.” Bruce's sleepy eyes traveled down to squint at the spot in question.

“Accident at a martial arts class.”

He said it while suppressing a yawn. Tony chimed in yawning, only with a lot more gusto and an open mouth. “You should come to NYC with me. Imma take good care of you.” It was said with deliberate casualness. Still, it made Bruce re-open his eyes which had closed on their own accord. “I can't.” It got him a displeased harrumph in return. “Why not? I thought no one's waiting cause they think you're still overseas.”

Hearing his own words from Tony's mouth made Bruce squirm and twist onto his side.  
“I don't want to talk about it now.”  
Tony let him escape but snuggled up close to put an arm around his waist.

“Fine. But I'll keep on trying.”  
When nothing followed, Tony fumbled for the remote control to switch off the flickering TV showing static by now.  
"Sleep well, stud."

+

Upon arriving in Illinois a few days later, Tony's precious little analog modification safely stowed away in the trunk, they checked into a motel in a fairly populated part of town. The rest of the day was spent at one of the many beaches around Lake Michigan before Tony made a decision. “Let's go have some fun tonight.” Wary, Bruce lifted his head from where he was lazing under his makeshift sunscreen.

It consisted of one of his ratty shirts speared on three wooden sticks which were rammed into the sand and had caused Tony with his olive complexion a great laugh. “Like what?” Tony's sunshade-hidden features came into view. “Like getting rid of our hobo hair, dressing up and going to town. That kinda thing. You in?” Bruce propped himself up on both elbows, looking at the way his fingers disappeared within the sand.

“If you must.”

That prompted Tony to slip his shades up high on his head and get out of the sun to crawl over to him. “I want to go with you.” He smelled of sun and sea, his smile alluring, and Bruce inhaled deep. Lots of people were around, so any physical touch was out of the question. Tony's teeth shone brightly out of his tanned face, and with the afternoon sun illuminating him and his curly hair from behind, Bruce swallowed hard at the sight.

“Okay.”

 


	10. Chapter 10

Pulsating beats hammered through the nightclub Tony had picked on a whim. The air was thick from cigarette smoke and clouds of aerosol, which created psychedelic patterns in the air whenever laser beams would strike the haze. The pungent smell invaded Bruce's nose, making him sneeze.

“Bless ya.”  
Next to him, Tony's teeth gleamed underneath the black light.  
“Not getting sick are you?”

Bruce shook his head and squinted ahead. The dance floor was packed with bodies which moved erratically underneath stroboscopic lights to electronic music. He reached up to run a hand through his hair, stopping briefly at the foreign, cropped feel under his palms. After they had lounged away the day on the beach, they sought out a cheap hairdresser before closing hours to get a long overdue haircut each.

While he had gone for an easy cut that did not require too much maintenance, Tony had spent the remaining evening in the bathroom, styling his new do with the help of almost an entire can of Aqua Net. The result was a set of curly hair on top with sleek sides he paired with the shadow of a goatee. From where Stark Jr. was bopping along to the music, he clapped a hand on Bruce's shoulder, satisfied with his well-being.

“Good. Wanna dance? Or something to drink first?”

The music made it nearly impossible to hear his voice, but Bruce read his lips and mouthed his request for a drink. They inched their way over to where they were able to conquer a small strip at the bar, and Tony took it upon himself to order two Malibu Coke for them. As they stood sipping on their drinks, Bruce had to sneeze again, grousing at the tickling sensation in his nose. Tony cast him a skeptical sideways glance.

“Sure you're not getting a cold?”

“I feel good. It's the air in here.”

At that, a guy several years their age leaned in from the left side of the bar. He was charismatic and of athletic build, with blond hair and blue eyes. “Hi, fellas. I couldn't help but overhear your talk, and I think I could help.” As with most strangers, Bruce frowned at him. “No, thanks.” The guy's smile did not waver. “Seems to me you're allergic to the aerosol they use around here. You should get yourself one of these.”  
  
Interested, Tony watched him dig into his pocket. A small bottle was in his hand, labeled 'Liquid Gold'. “It's a room deodorizer. Just take a sniff and you'll be fine.” Seeing they were still not convinced, he winked. “First one's on the house.” He twisted the cap of the bottle and beckoned them to lean in. With a plop, the lid came off, releasing a whiff of a strong, chemical smell.

Bruce erupted in another coughing fit and rubbed the back of his arm under his nose multiple times. Tony was less overwhelmed, inhaled deeply, and rocked back on his heels. “Damn, that's good stuff. How much?” The blonde's grin got wider as he refastened the lid again. “Special price for two nice fellas like you. $78 a bottle.” It was Bruce who stopped Tony's arm going for the back pocket of his pants and his wallet.

“We don't have that much money anyhow.”

Disappointment crossed the guy's features and he was quick to stroll along, disappearing in the crowd. The two of them went back to finish their drinks, Bruce drowned the rest of his in one go to get rid of the scratching feeling in his throat. Soon enough, a pleasant warmness spread through his whole body, and from the looks of it, Tony was feeling the same. He put down his almost empty glass and reached for Bruce's hand.

“C'mon now, I wanna dance with you.”

The other boy wrestled his fingers free. “I can't dance.” Tony waved him off. “I'll show ya.” He remained relentless, and so Bruce only had time to inch his glass on the bar counter before he stumbled behind his enthusiastic friend onto the crowded dance floor. People cheered and whooped when the DJ mixed a new Whitney Houston song into the mix, and Tony joined the overall ecstasy, moving and swaying along with ease.

Seeing Bruce remained stiff like a statue, Tony wedged a knee between his thighs and started to grind on him. “I get so emotional, baby, every time I think of you.” Being serenaded only made Bruce curl his lips in a wonky smirk. “You're high.” His slurred exclamation was met with a hearty nod. “And you're mind-blowingly gorgeous.” Tony's hands then traveled up towards Bruce's face to cup it between two warm palms.

The latter jerked back, a small rational part of his brain still trying to keep their relationship hidden. “N-not here.” Still, Tony was relentless and reached out for his backside, pulling him flush against his crotch area. “Ain't it shocking what love can do.” At the husky sing-song voice close to his ear and the feel of Tony's erection against his thigh, Bruce started to feel himself growing hard as well; desire overriding his rational mind.

When Tony pulled back, his eyes were lidded, his mouth half-open. “I wanna fuck you. Like the guys on TV yesterday.” His eyes followed the line of Bruce's pale throat, seeing his Adam's apple bob when he swallowed hard. "Not here." It came out as unsteady as before, even if Bruce's fingers got a life of their own and clenched around Tony's swaying hips. They gazed deep into each other's eyes before Tony nodded.

“Motel.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music at the club: 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k9CqFTtC7mo  
> and  
> https://youtu.be/e0NlaMo30qo?t=8  
> Lyrics quoted by Tony courtesy of Whitney Houston's "So Emotional" (1988)
> 
> The boys' new looks:
> 
> https://i.pinimg.com/originals/cf/a7/60/cfa7609add3eda03de7c2a8598016add.jpg  
> and  
> https://66.media.tumblr.com/8eae0b59661b71742d318e98cb91672b/tumblr_pmtnioPq4n1wu24go_540.jpg
> 
> Also, the drug mentioned in this chapter is explained here:  
> https://www.verywellmind.com/what-are-poppers-22094
> 
> It goes without saying drugs are a big no-no and you should never accept anything offered to you by a stranger at a club.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> consensual m/m situation in the first part of the chapter

They stumbled back to their current room, dizzy with anticipation and wired by the chemicals flooding their bloodstreams. Getting naked became a challenge without finesse, but when they tumbled onto the mattress, they both were hard. Tony rolled over and fumbled for the nightstand. “Gotta prep you first.” After brushing down a watch and a book, he found the little blue bottle of lube as well as the pack of condoms.

Bruce, who sat back on his heels licking his dry lips every five seconds, watched on with a quiet, burning intensity. “I'll do that.” Before Tony could say something, he had snatched the bottle from his hands and walked over to their bathroom, closing the door and locking it behind him. Over the course of the upcoming five minutes, there was the sound of water running in the sink, some rustling, and more water.

Tony kept on stroking himself every now and then, toying with the small square wrapper in his other hand. When Bruce unlocked the bathroom and switched off its lights, he found his boyfriend propped up against the headboard of the bed, staring at him and his still prominent arousal with a hungry look. By now, he had rolled a condom over his erection and spread his arms open wide with an inviting wiggle of his brows.

“Sweet hitch-a-hiker, won't you ride on my fast machine?”  
  
Like Bruce, Tony's pupils were still blown wide, an aftereffect of the drugs in his system. Bruce crawled over to him on his knees, straddling his hips and grinding against his length in the process. Tony hissed. “Next time, I wanna watch you. Or do it myself.” His hold on Bruce's hips was strong as the other boy proceeded to sink down on him inch by inch until he was fully seated. "Hold still." It was a low growl, and Tony bit his lip.

After a few heartbeats, Bruce started to move. The friction almost overwhelming, and Tony dropped his head back with a moan. “Oh, fuck. Fuck, I never want this to end.” Caught up in ecstasy, Bruce bent down to catch his mouth for a kiss. “Me... too.” It came out in a panted gasp. From where Tony's palms had run up and down his thighs, his caresses soon turned into a bruising grip when he started to feel his release building fast.

“Think I'm gonna come, babe - oh, shit, oh fuck, I... I need you.”

He kept on babbling until he halfway realized Bruce had started to jerk himself off. It pushed Tony over the edge without warning, and they finished mere seconds apart from each other; Tony with an obscenely loud moan like in the movies, and Bruce with an almost too easy to overhear grunt and exhale through clenched teeth. For a few moments, they just lay there, listening to the sound of their erratic breathing.

Eventually, Bruce carefully disentangled and rolled over onto the mattress. Tony wrapped the condom into a tissue, used another tissue to wipe at the stains on his chest, and turned to the solemn face next to him. “That was awesome.” A hazel eye opened, only to close again right after. “Mhmm.” Bruce's voice was sleepy. "Next time I'll be on top." His mouth curled with satisfied smugness. 

+

In Ohio, they stopped for lunch at a little diner by the road. It was run by a woman in her late thirties who wore her hair and clothes like a Madonna rip-off. She eyed them all the way from the door to the booth they slipped into and did not take long to approach them once they had stopped skimming over the menu. “What can I get you two studs?” She snapped her gum as her gaze traveled from Tony over to Bruce.

“Two grilled chicken subs and a pitcher of iced tea.”

Just before she had jotted his order down, Tony held up a finger. “Ah, make that a large sub for my boyfriend.” The waitress dipped her pen onto her notepad with a twinkle in her eye. “Comin' right up, sonny.” As soon as she was out of hearing range, Bruce bestowed a dark glower upon him.

“Why did you do that?”

“What?”

At Tony's all-innocent look, Bruce seethed and ripped a few napkins out of a plastic dispenser with more force than necessary. The return of the waitress interrupted them. Her hoop earrings jangled as she poured each of them a glass of ice tea before putting the pitcher in the middle.

“There you go, lovebirds.”

Tony thanked her with a blithe smile and began to slurp some of his tea. Bruce still glowered at him. “This isn't funny.” Blinking up at him through thick lashes, Tony released the straw and propped up his cheek on a fist. “It wasn't meant to be.” His tone was cocky. Bruce only stared at him some more before he averted his eyes and focused on something outside the window.

Their subs arrived ten minutes later, but at the strained atmosphere that ruled the table, the waitress simply put their plates down and told them to enjoy their meal. Tony wolfed down his portion before he felt for some change in his pockets and shuffled out of the booth. When he came back, Bruce had already paid and stood at the door waiting. They wordlessly exited the diner, headed for the Buick down the dusty parking lot.

Tony then paused in his stride, flipped a cigarette into his mouth, and lit it with a match. He did, however, not even get to take more than two drags when Bruce snatched the glimmering stick from his lips and crushed it under the heel of a ratty sneaker. Incensed, Tony gaped.

"The fuck was that for?!"

"That's disgusting."

"So is your attitude."

"What?"

"Your fear of being called a fag. That's what it is, no?"  
Bruce's brows drew together until they almost touched.  
"You're talking shit and I don't have to put up with that!"  
  
Tony grabbed him by the arm and yanked at it so that they were forced to face each other.   
“Yes, you fucking do! Because I want you to stay with me, you fucker. Is that so hard to understand?”  
He gave another forceful push at his chest to which Bruce's eyes and mouth narrowed to slits.  
  
“I told you that I can't. Stop bothering me.”

With that he turned around to head for the Buick, unprepared for when Tony flung himself at him. Momentum helped in tackling the taller boy down to the ground, and that was when Bruce's fighting instincts kicked in. He was quick to reverse their positions with a grappling move that sent Tony flat on his back. They struggled against each other in the dust until Bruce resorted to pinning him down with his arms and legs.

“Are you crazy or what?”

Even though he had one forearm at Tony's throat to prevent him from raising his head, the latter nevertheless continued to buck and writhe, clothes and face streaked with dirt. “Get off me, you liar. Goddamn piece of shit! I thought you liked me!” Tears started to pool in the corners of Tony's large brown eyes. Upon seeing them, Bruce took his arm off his windpipe. “What the fuck are you talking about? I do! Fucking hell I do!”

Fire blazed in Tony's gaze. “You said you didn't want this to end, but you just don't care. You're just using me.” Taken aback, Bruce pulled back and shifted so that he sat next to him in the dirt. “That's not true.” Tony made no move to get up or fight him anew. Instead, he threw an arm over his face, hiding his eyes and turning his head away. “It's true. You're using me and you're gonna throw me away when you're done.”

His voice had taken on an agonized tone. Bruce's frown matched it in intensity as he slowly got to his feet and gave a careless wipe down his dust-coated clothes. “Tony, get up.” No reaction from the person at his feet. With a sigh, the Gothamite hunkered down next to him again and brushed his elbow. “I didn't mean to hurt you.” In a gentle but insistent move, Bruce pried the arm away from Tony's eyes.

A thin rivulet had made its way through the dust across his nose and cheek, and Bruce rubbed its trace away with a thumb. “It's not true, okay? I care. If I could, I would come with you. I just... haven't been home in many years.” At that, Tony's eyes slid back up to meet his. “Why?” A rueful expression crossed Bruce's features. “I lost my way.” He was about to pull away and stand up, but a hand curled into the front of his jacket.

“I just... don't wanna lose yours.”

Tony's eyes were still brimming, but with determination.

Without warning, Bruce bent down and pressed their lips together, tasting dust and saline tears.  
  
“You won't.”

 


	12. Chapter 12

Pennsylvania was wet and soggy during summer, matching Tony's somber mood. His emotional and physical withdrawal first befuddled, then angered Bruce, and so they spent the majority of their drive in sullen silence, only drowned out by mindless chatter and endless billboard charts over the radio until night fell. Without asking, Tony picked the first motel he found, a small building situated right next to a populated street.

Some interchanging red and green neon lights from a huge advertising sign underneath their room created a steady flicker that was visible even through closed curtains. While Bruce plopped onto his side of the bed and zapped through the TV channels with a moody curl of his lips, Tony disappeared in the bathroom. He unlocked the door half an hour later, expelling a gust of hot air after taking a shower.

“I'm going out.”

Bruce only had time to catch a whiff of his hairspray before the door to their room fell shut.

+

At the first club that looked like it might cater to his needs, Tony escaped the skies that were just about to open up again and slipped inside; headed straight for the bar. He was fully intent on coping with his misery by drinking enough to forget about the fact that their journey was slowly but steadily coming to an end, and that Bruce was going to forget about him the minute he set a foot into his own, blasted hometown.

That Whitney Houston song from the club in Illinois then started playing, and a feeling of desperation sunk into Tony's heart and stomach. He lit his second cigarette within minutes and nodded his thanks at the bartender before he took his drink and turned to face the dance floor.

 _I remember the way that we touched, I wish I didn't like it so much_  
_I get so emotional, baby_  
_Every time I think of you_  
_I get so emotional, baby_  
_Ain't it shocking what love can do_

The pack of Camels was almost empty by the time the extended club version was over. On his third drink, Tony at least felt sufficiently buzzed. He slipped the last cigarette into his mouth and crumpled the pack in a tight fist. As he aimed at a nearby trashcan, he caught the eye of a stringy girl who watched him with interest. Tony averted his eyes and threw, but missed, cursing under his breath as he had to bend down to try again.

Once he stopped focussing on the trashcan, he looked up and saw the girl had sidestepped a group of four and now stood in front of him. She was taller than him by an inch, maybe around his age and clad in black from head to toe, with ripped fishnet stockings and a jeans jacket tied around her waist. “You've got amazing eyes.” He smirked at her, cigarette stub between his lips, but refrained from complimenting her in return.

Unmindful of his behavior, she popped a green bubblegum at him and cocked her head. It made a strand of ink-black hair slip from her crazy high updo, but she simply brushed it behind her ear. “They look so sad, though. Girl trouble?” Tony took the cigarette from his lips and exhaled through his nose with a tilt of his chin. “Guy trouble.” Understanding flashed all over her features, and her thin, painted-on eyebrows wiggled.

“How about something to lift your spirits?”

He dropped the glimmering stub and crushed it under his heel. “What'chu got?” She made a so-so gesture, revealing short nails with flaky black paint. “Angel dust, Kit Kat, some E's. What's your name?” Tony shoved his thumbs into the belt loops of his tight jeans and tried to appear taller and suaver. “Tommy.” When she smiled back, her teeth were stained yellow and fairly uneven. “Tiffany. Meet me at the restrooms.”

Tony nodded and watched her slip past him, worming her way through the cluster of people. The DJ had gone over to blasting a slower number, and people were starting to get cozy in pairs. Squeezing his eyes shut against a wave of nausea from too much nicotine and booze, Tony squinted ahead and forced his feet over to the restroom area. Making his way through the bobbing crowd, he then all but stopped dead in his tracks.

He ignored the shoving from behind him before people pushed past him, swearing at him for blocking their way. In the tunnel-like entrance area above the dance floor stood none other than Bruce, hands on his hips, and scanned the crowd. Without thinking Tony surged ahead, almost stumbling over a pair sitting in a dark corner making out. Once Bruce noticed him, his face went from honest relief to open discountenance.

Keeping hold of the metal banister like a lifeline, Tony tried to coordinate his wonky steps until they stood facing each other. By that time, Bruce had crossed his arms in front of his chest. He was drenched from head to toe, his hair matted and hanging limply all over his forehead. The rain had darkened his red t-shirt, leaving it to cling to his lithe torso. Tony blinked and ran the pad of his thumb over his right eye.

“What'cha doin' here?”

“Looking for you.”

They had to yell at each other despite the close proximity. Tony made a presenting motion at himself.

“Tada.”

Despite the jaunty gesture, his eyes were lifeless. In the flashing lights from above, Bruce's jaw worked.

“Let's go home.”

Long fingers curled around Tony's wrist, and their warmth and steadiness were enough for the shorter boy to follow him through the entrance area and out onto the street. It was still raining as they headed down wet, glistening asphalt while Bruce led them back to their motel. As soon as the fresh air hit Tony's face, his level of intoxication seemed to increase, making it difficult to remain upright, if it had not been for Bruce.

Neither of them spoke a word during the 10-minute walk, but their fingers remained entwined the whole time.

When the door had fallen shut behind them, Bruce released his hand and slipped out of his wet sneakers. Tony dropped on the chair by the window and tried to catch his equilibrium. While Bruce started to get rid of his soaked clothes, Tony leaned forward on his thighs and watched with dull eyes how the rain kept on dripping from his hair and his clothes onto the floor. Eventually, Tony squinted up at the ceiling lights.

“No.”

Bruce stopped with his shirt halfway off.

“What?”

“This isn't what I want. Home. I wanna go home.”

Bruce slipped the cold and wet shirt over his head and held it in front of his bare chest. “You want... now?” With gritted teeth, Tony leaned back in the chair and fished for something inside his wet jeans. It took him two tries until he was able to fling it into Bruce's general direction. “Get me out of here. It feels like I can't breathe, I-” For a long moment, they stared at each other, Tony's eyes dark and filled with desperation.

Eventually, Bruce bent down to pick up the wet item that was the Buick's keys from the carpet.

+

Half an hour later, they left the motel, dressed in their remaining set of dry clothes and with their wet shirts and pants spread out on the backseat. Seeing Bruce's only pair of sneakers was full of holes and therefore still soggy, he put them at Tony's feet and turned up the heater, curling his socked toes. Tony slouched in the passenger seat, letting his head loll over to watch how Bruce stared intently at the Buick's dashboard. 

"Wha's up?"

Two brows furrowed.

“Nothing."

With a resolute motion, Bruce yanked the seatbelt and strapped in. Tony did the same though he fumbled with the mechanism for a little while. "You can drive, no?" Spurred on by the incredulous-sounding question, Bruce turned the key. "In theory." Nothing happened, and Tony, finally strapped in as well, wiped a hand over his face, willing his sluggishness away. "'s an automatic, so foot on the brake first."

On sock-clad feet, Bruce did as he was told. "You ain't gotta license?" He tried again and the Buick sprang to life with a deep roar. "I had driving lessons. I'll get the papers as soon as I'm back home." His long fingers curled around the dark-gray wheel. Bruce then put the car on drive mode and was straining to look past the massive hood as they rolled down the parking lot. Tony gave a yawn that turned into a hiccup.

"Best not run into th' police then."

He reached over to turn on the windshield wipers seeing it was still raining. It earned him a look of reproach. "Hands off." Miffed, Tony raised both palms and sunk back into his seat. "Yeah, maybe 's for th' best. Might make it easier after all." Attention split between steering the big vehicle through dark streets and Tony's slurred mumblings, Bruce frowned into the night. "Easier for what?" A snort. "Easier to forget we ever met."

"I never said-"

"Stop lyin' to my face, Bruce."

Silence. Tony's eyes traced the aligned streetlamps for a while before the motion made him dizzy. “Know what I wished for on that star? You to stay with me. To be my friend. No, more 'n that. My ev'rything.” Bruce frowned at the dotted windshield and yanked the wipers up to go at a quicker pace. “You are drunk. Try to sleep, I'll wake you in a few hours.” Tony snuggled deeper into the passenger seat and adjusted his head.

“Drunk people 'lways tell t'truth, y'know.”

With that, Tony closed his eyes and started snoring softly soon after. He missed out on Bruce many surreptitious glances while the streetlamps continued to graze his sleeping features in a steady rhythm.

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> consensual m/m situations in this chapter

An hour later, Tony woke on his own accord; groggy, disoriented, and morose. He ended up puking out of the passenger door twice, so Bruce stayed behind the wheel. By that time, they were on the I-80 E headed for Jersey City, and he could not keep his eyes open any longer. 

"I need to get some sleep." 

His voice roused Tony from a semi-daze, and the bottle of water Bruce had bought him at a convenience store rolled from Tony's lax grip and landed under the seat. "Fuck." He ducked to grope and fumble for it while Bruce kept on squinting at the street. "I am going to stop at the next best motel." With a grunt, Tony reappeared, bottle in his hand. "Where are we?" He tried to catch the next best road sign in passing.

"Stroudsburg. Huh."

Bottle clamped between his thighs, Tony reached for the tattered map. A flip of the visor with its lighted vanity mirror later, he studied their current position. "75 miles left till New York City." When Bruce barely managed to suppress a yawn, Tony folded the map haphazardly and put the visor back up. "Look, there's a Super 8 coming up." He pointed at a telltale yellow-red-blue neon sign in the distance. Bruce gave a curt nod.

+

Though situated right next to the interstate, the motel itself was fairly quiet. With Bruce dead on his feet and Tony still reeling from his alcohol abuse, they still tried to make an effort at the reception. Upon a rather strong smell in the hallway, Tony felt his stomach lurch and excused himself to head for the restrooms around the corner. When nothing but dry heaving came up, he nevertheless flushed and washed his hands and face.

Outside, he almost bumped into Bruce who leaned against the wall next to the restrooms, backpack on one shoulder, keys to their room in hand. "Complimentary breakfast each morning. We should make use of that." Tony only gave a weak, listless nod at the prospect of food and motioned for him to lead the way. 

Their room was clean and smelled fine, despite a collection of aged furniture and worn-out carpeting. The first thing Tony did was to head for the bathroom to brush his teeth, and Bruce soon joined him at the sink. "I wanna shower." Mouth full of white paste, Tony's words were near indistinguishable, but when he pointed at the shower stall, Bruce nodded. Tony rinsed his mouth and wiped the back of a hand over it. 

"Join me?"

"I'm tired."

"And also cold from the rain. You'll get sick."

Bruce also spat and rinsed, but reached for a towel to wipe his mouth. "You're always scheming and thinking how to get things your way." Before he could squeeze past him and leave, Tony blocked his way. “Actually, I'm tired of thinking." Without warning, two arms went around Bruce's neck and drew him in for a kiss. Tony felt him stiffen under his touch at first, but held on until Bruce's arms went up and around his body in return.

"Please, Bruce. _Please._ ”  
Upon Tony's desperate tone, Bruce held on tighter, feeling him shiver underneath his palms.  
“Fuck me. Don't you want to? I want it.”

Their eyes met as Bruce pulled back enough to hold him at arms' length. "Tonight is... not the right time for decisions like that." Dark eyes blazed back at him. "It is! If tonight's the last chance I get to decide, then it is!" Tony pulled free to get rid of his clothes, swaying precariously on one leg as he tried to peel down his jeans. When he stood there naked underneath the artificial light, covered only in goosebumps, Bruce swallowed.

"I'll be right back."

He stepped out without another look back and dropped onto the side of the bed he had deemed as his. Bruce then ran his palms over his face multiple times, feeling his eyes burn behind closed lids. After a while, he heard the sound of running water and exhaled deeply. Once he returned to the bathroom, equally naked and bringing along lube and a condom, the small, windowless room had already filled with steam.

Tony stood underneath the running shower, and when Bruce stepped in behind him, he saw him fingering himself open with liquid soap. Bruce felt the blood rushing down to his groin, overriding his exhaustion. He put the lube aside on a rickety soap tray made from plastic and nabbed Tony by the waist to suck a greedy bruise into the junction of his throat. They kissed, wet and with tongue, with Tony craning his neck.

"Fuck me."

Giving a few strokes to his shaft, Bruce then sheathed and aligned himself just as Tony braced himself against the tiles and lowered his head. It turned out Tony had been overly eager, and ultimately took some of the actual lube in the end until they were fully united. "Is... is it good?" His fingers splayed out left and right of Tony's hips, and Bruce focused on the water running down between the two pointy shoulder blades in front.

"I want... a little faster. Gimme your dick."

At the muffled response, Bruce leaned in close to press a kiss to his back. The altered angle made Tony keen with a wanton moan, and ruined Bruce's intentions at trying to restrain himself. "... close already. Sorry, I-" His panted mumblings in between thrusting made Tony reach down for his own erection.

"Come in me."

The force of his orgasm sent him slumping against Tony's back. After his heartbeat was back to normal, Bruce then reached out with a palm to brace himself on the cream-colored tiles, next to where Tony's left hand still rested. Overwhelmed and zapped of all energy, Bruce stepped back until they were separated. He disposed of the condom and turned the shower to lukewarm and let the water run over his heated face and body.

"Did you-?"

Tony had turned around and they were facing each other. "Yeah." Face serious, Bruce gave a relieved nod. Tony blinked up at him through the water dripping from his dark lashes. "I'll never forget you, no matter what happens." On instinct, Bruce then reached out to turn off the shower before he took Tony's face in between both palms. "I will come along and see where you live before I leave for Gotham."

He sealed their wet lips before either of them could ruin his concession with ill-chosen words.

+

Spirits lifted, Tony was quick to take over at the wheel again the next day, after a hearty breakfast of waffles, toast, and cereal. One and a half hours later, New York's majestic skyline greeted them; dipped in the orange and reddish hues of approaching sunrise. Bruce sat with his elbow propped up on the inside of the door, knuckles lightly pressed against his lips. His gaze was focused ahead as the radio played a folk song.

“Excited?”  
Tony's soft question made him blink reality back into place.  
“For what?”

“For the Big Apple – getting to sleep in a good bed for once – seeing my crib – I dunno. Everything.”

Bruce mulled over his words as they entered a tunnel. Instead of a response, he rolled the window up against the heavy gasoline smell. Once they dipped back into the light, there was a huge, strategically-placed billboard right in front. It left no choice but to be looked at, and Bruce looked.

Then he stared.

Stared the close-up of Tony in a business suit.

Stared at the dynamic logo that was placed underneath his picture, reading 'Stark Industries – Changing The World For A Better Future'.

When Bruce turned his head towards his driver, Tony wore an embarrassed expression. “Yikes, I've forgotten about that one.” His quip earned him no reaction whatsoever, so Tony tried for rationality. “Uh, so... can we not make a big deal about it?” Bruce did not crane his neck as they passed the billboard by. Instead, he once more stared ahead, albeit now with a deep frown. “I don't know.”

“You don't know what? If you can't make a fuss about it? Listen, all of that means nothing to me, I-”

Bruce's quiet voice interrupted his ramblings. “The reason I ran was that my parents' legacy had gone to shambles and I was unable to interfere. You just offed and left even though you had a choice to better things.” He stared at his feet, thus missing out how Tony gaped at him, perplex at the sudden revelation.

“... wait, what do you mean 'your parents' legacy'?”

“Wayne Enterprises belonged to my father.”

The Buick stopped with such a sudden sharpness that Bruce almost felt his teeth rattle from the force that yanked him out of and back into his seat. Tony's face was filled with disbelief. “Hold up, wait a sec. You're telling me you are--” Behind them, a crescendo of blaring horns erupted.

Neither boy paid attention.

“Bruce Wayne.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The folk-like song mentioned in this chapter is supposed to be 'Let the river run' by Carly Simon (1988) / 'Working Girl' OST  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cv-0mmVnxPA
> 
> Tony's billboard ad is inspired by the magazine cover manip from the first Iron Man movie:  
> http://66.media.tumblr.com/08d7c73b7f3836d159d5f8ba0a5c83a3/tumblr_nkmxbmSq3F1qj6sk2o2_1280.jpg


	14. Chapter 14

The constantly growing honking made Tony focus on the road and put the Buick back into motion.

“What about Thomas?”

“My father's first name.”

“Fuck. Why-...”

At Bruce's stonewalling expression, Tony ran a hand through his hair. “It wouldn't have mattered to me, I mean, I – I thought you were a dangerous fugitive at first, for fuck's sake and I still took you along!” Silence fell between them, loud and ugly, for a long minute. Eventually, Bruce found his voice again. “I can't come with you. I have to go back.” Tony drummed his fingers against the steering wheel.

“So we're back to square one.”

No reply. They remained quiet until they had to stop at the next red light. “What if we both decide to stand up and fight for what's right? You go and take back your parents' company from whatever slimebag's at the helm, and I go show Obie I can CEO. Maybe we can even work together in the long run! Wouldn't that be neat?” That time, Tony got a skeptical side glance. “You think that is a good idea? Let alone a realistic one?”

“Feel free to have a better one.”

Once more, Bruce chose to remain quiet, though Tony looked as if he had hoped for something else until the very last second. “Figured.” Traffic started up and they were pulled deeper and further into the heart of Manhattan. After rubbing at the calluses inside his right palm for the longest time, Bruce raised his head. “Drop me off at the next bus station.”

+

Eventually, they stopped at the George Washington bus terminal. Tony remained seated and left the engine running, clutching at the steering wheel like a lifeline while Bruce rummaged around the trunk for his sparse belongings. Once he was done he appeared at the driver's window, eyes unreadable and face set in stone.

“Thank you. For everything.”

Leaning back against the headrest, Tony stared ahead, avoiding eye contact. “Shouldn't have said it out loud, huh.” Wayne shifted his backpack. “What?” When their eyes met, Stark Jr's were brimming, even if the tug around his mouth was nothing but cynical. “The wish on those falling stars. They never come true once you say 'em out loud.” Bruce pressed his lips together for a brief moment and averted his gaze.

“That's it then.”

Tony's voice was small, causing him to glimpse up. 

“Take care, Bruce Wayne.”

A flicker of pained longing crossed the Gothamite's features.

“You, too.”

The Buick roared out loud, and Tony used the turn signal to pull back into traffic. He cast the lone figure a final glance through the rearview mirror before he turned a corner and the bus terminal disappeared from sight.

+

Tony's return to the classic limestone facade of 890 5th Avenue was a rather anti-climatic affair. Some of the cleaning maids must have gone and contacted Stane, because as soon as Tony had taken a long, hot shower and inhaled half a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch cereal, Obadiah was on the phone.

"Finally decide to grace us with your presence again, Tony?"

"I needed some time to clear my head."

"I can imagine."

Stane's voice let on just what he thought of Tony's preferred methods.

"Listen, Obie, about that butchered Wayne Enterprise deal-"

"None of your concerns, my boy. What's done's done."

"Is too - and it's not! I mean, we can still work something out, it... doesn't have to remain a corporate pissing contest.”  
  
Tony's voice was small and he ground his teeth upon hearing himself. Obadiah's smile was audibly lethal over the line.  
  
“We'll talk about that once you are up to speed again. For now, you'll stay where you are.”

The line went dead without further ado, and Tony could not help but slam the receiver down. After stewing in anger for the longest time, smoking half a pack of cigarettes on the patio of the breakfast room, Tony's mind started formulating a plan. Grounded, he began pulling files from the company's archives via phone, asking the assistants to send them to his private address without kicking up a fuss on official channels.

Big Manila folders soon started to pile up at his parents' townhouse, and after foregoing his father's old and suffocating study, Tony went and claimed the beautiful ancient library as his new makeshift office. There, he sat over take-out Thai or pizza and read up on the incident leading to Stark Industries' blunder which had ultimately ended in the merger of Wayne Shipping with PAAL Ship Corporation.

It had created one of the world's largest commercial shipping operation for precious metals and booted Stark Industries out of a hostile takeover deal. Part of Tony felt great satisfaction at foiling Obadiah's most likely ill-founded intentions back then, part of him wanted to right his wrongs. Former PAAL CEO Andreas Milanic, now retired, had successfully floated Wayne Shipping on the New York Stock Exchange earlier that month.

Sadly enough, a lack of investment in Wayne Shipping ever since the merger took place kept new shareholders and potential investors at bay, so the young Stark heir did what he thought was best. An amicable chat with Milanic's second son Dragoslav later, Tony knew he held 20 percent of the company while the majority of shares was owned by the Wayne family.

Dragoslav, or Drago to his friends, was merely a few years older than Tony but just as susceptible to beautiful girls and expensive booze on a night out partying at New York's hotspots. Tony did not drink more than half a glass of watered-down bourbon that night, but he went home with a written statement that Drago had signed his shares over to him in favor of a generous sum.

Said sum would only appear in the books by the end of the fiscal year, Tony had made sure of that. Combined with the remaining 23 percent of shares from public ownership, Tony presented his company and respectively Obadiah Stane with the possibility of becoming an important player in world ocean transportation alongside Wayne Enterprises.

+

Sitting at the dark massive desk of his vast office, Bruce stared at a thick manila folder in front of him. Soon after his return to the land of the living, an overjoyed Alfred Pennyworth had seen to reinstall Bruce as the sole owner. Now figures over figures demanded his insight, and while he had put his brains into action upon his return, the prospect of leading a multi-billion-dollar company left him feeling unfulfilled and drab. 

Wayne Jr. sighed to no one in particular and eyed the current report again. He was downright grateful for when his phone rang and Ethel, his secretary was on the line. She was in her mid-fifties and had developed a certain motherly fondness for the young, quiet heir who was her superior. Bruce was not sure whether he liked it or not, but she took quite a workload off of him, and for that, he was downright grateful.

“A Mister Edwards is on the line. He said you have a telephone appointment to talk about the PAAL merger?”  
  
Curious and clueless at the same time, Bruce cleared his throat, trying to appear professional.  
  
“Yes, erm, thank you. Put him through.”  
  
Exhaling deep, Bruce heard the click of the line.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this the company that owns Everything Everywhere Everyday according to the commercials?”

At the familiar baritone, Bruce's left eyebrow rose. “Mister Edwards, huh?” On the other end, Tony chuckled. “Only fair, Mister Thomas.” Despite not wanting to, Bruce found himself smiling. He pushed the tiresome reports further away and leaned back in his seat, swiveling the executive chair around so that he was facing the Gotham City Bay area below. “How are you? Already changing the world for a better future I take it?”

“Ah shut up, Mister No Driver's License. I'm just calling to talk business with you because I am a responsible adult.”

Fondness lay in Tony's voice. On an exhale, he then added, softer that time. “Also, I miss you."

Bruce swallowed but his answer still came out croaked.

"Same."

"Really?"

At the hope coming through the receiver, Bruce closed his eyes for a few seconds.

"Kinda miss our road trip, too.” 

Both of them remained quiet and only listened to each others breathing over the line. Tony then cleared his throat.

“Listen, why... why don't I come over, we take my new Vette, and you get to show me your hometown.”  
  
A slow smile started to grow around the corners of Bruce's mouth.  
  
“Sounds... good.”

 

The END

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Info on the Wayne Shipping deal in the 80s taken from:  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wayne_Enterprises
> 
> The Wayne Enterprises commercial Tony mentions DOES exist:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=56mOEdDzCjY
> 
> Aaaaaaand cue-in the end credits ^^ 
> 
> A BIG THANK YOU, each and everybody, for reading, subbing, commenting, and giving kudos! I am grateful and happy to have such great readers who are along for those crazy rides I call fic ;D
> 
> This fic's OST (in order of "appearance"):
> 
> 1\. Voice of America's Sons' - John Cafferty & The Beaver Brown Band  
> 2\. Never Stop - FM-84 feat. Ollie Wride  
> 3\. We Didn't Start The Fire - Billy Joel  
> 4\. Let's Dance - Chris Montez  
> 5\. Boogie Woogie Country Man - Jerry Lee Lewis  
> 6\. In The Middle Of All That Trouble Again - Albert Douglas Meakin  
> 7\. Where's The Fire - Tim Feehan  
> 8\. Into The Darkness - Futurecop!  
> 9\. So Emotional - Whitney Houston  
> 10\. Let The River Run - Carley Simon  
> 11\. The Day I Lost You (feat. Meteor) - Stilz  
> 12\. Let 'em Say - Lizzo feat. Caroline Smith  
> 13\. Sister Christian - Night Ranger (DJ Huffnpoof's So Right Mix)  
> [also: The story's title is taken from this chorus]  
> All credit goes to the respective artists / singer / songwriters


End file.
